


falling, falling

by isshun



Series: Down the Rabbit Hole [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, a week late for akafuri day oops, mibuchi is akashi's self-proclaimed love advisor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3771931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isshun/pseuds/isshun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easy to fall in love. The hard part is finding someone to catch you.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>In which Furihata agrees to go on a trip to Kyoto and signs himself up for a lifetime of more and more worries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling, falling

**Author's Note:**

> this was written with a mind of exploring furihata’s feelings for akashi in the early stages of their relationship. i mean, going out with someone so much more outstanding than you can really create some self-esteem and insecurity issues sometimes, especially when it comes to furi since he constantly has these meltdowns and panic attacks ;; but anyways, this is my take on the subject, and written in furi's perspective (but still in third person), so i guess sometimes his thoughts might be a bit extreme/far-fetched at times. I apologise in advance.

 

 

_It's easy to fall in love. The hard part is finding someone to catch you._

_—Bertrand Russel_

 

 

❀

 

The train ride to Kyoto was an extremely nerve-wracking one. After the first hour or so, Furihata has lost count of how many stops and imaginary sheep he’s tried to count to calm himself down. In fact, it makes absolutely no sense at all for him to be this nervous, nerves bundled up in messy knots and all that jittery crap because bless the basketball gods he’s just endured the harshest training camp for the past one week of hell. His arms feel like jelly, his calves scream in scorching pain like a newborn baby drowning in fire and all he wants to do at this very moment is crawl back to bed and spend the remainder of spring break on bed rest.

But no. Life is not a bed of roses, not everyone is born with a silver spoon in their mouths. Instead of sleeping in like all his other teammates are most probably doing now, Furihata Kouki finds himself on the morning ride of the shinkansen on his merry way to Kyoto. It’s only a three-hour ride at most, given the speed at which he’s currently travelling in, but to Furihata it feels as if his whole life of another twenty-something years has stretched itself out ahead of him, time paving the way for Furihata to walk with his broken legs and tired arms to doom. It’s the walkathon of death, only Furihata wishes he were strong enough to believe so every minute, because how to not feel conflicted about naming this trip ‘death’ when all he is doing is travelling across half of the country to meet someone who still sometimes scares his soul and may or may not reciprocate his affections?

It’s complicated. Akashi may like complicated things, but Furihata does not.

And it is with these conflicted and complicated feelings that Furihata accepts the redhead’s offer to visit Kyoto for a few days. He really doesn’t know what caused that momentary splurge of courage to course through his veins when he picked up the phone and said yes, but the deed is done, acceptance conveyed all the way through telephone communication waves to Kyoto, and Furihata may or may not have signed the contract that would sell his soul away to a lifetime of more, more, more and more worries. And a side dish of anxiety, very very side dish, almost coleslaw.

_Excellent,_ he reads the text message sitting innocently in his inbox again for probably the millionth time. He can practically hear the redhead’s pleased voice purr in his mind. _I look forward to seeing you soon, Kouki._

Furihata wants to cry.

 

 

❀

 

 

It’s funny the way fate plays them human beings as her puppets in what history would deem as the stupidest soap opera worthy of a multi-billion dollar broadway production. All broadway productions are stupid in his very humble opinion, Furihata is convinced his would top the charts and destroy the box office completely if Akashi Seijuro doesn’t destroy him first.

All he remembers is that one day they were not on speaking terms with each other, he being petrified at the very presence of the Rakuzan basketball team captain, and next they were sitting opposite each other in a quaint cafe in Harajuku, sipping coffee and exchanging embarrassing childhood memories over Harajuku cheesecakes like they knew each other since they were in diapers.

Okay, so maybe the last bit was too obvious an exaggeration, but! Furihata’s point is!! that with Akashi, nothing ever seems to make sense anymore! Well, not that anything has ever made sense to Furihata before. Except basketball. _That_ he supposes he can manage it a bit. But then again, screw that last part, even basketball doesn’t make sense when it comes to Akashi. Till this day, when the Red Emperor is involved with the sport, Furihata can never comprehend how effortlessly perfect he makes the sport seem to be, how simple those complex moves and techniques would become when it’s Akashi Seijuro that’s handling the ball and executing perfect three-pointers with such military precision and grace it makes Midorima Shintaro’s techniques look like baby kerosuke waddling in water learning how to swim, and not to mention how worthless Furihata feels when he witnesses all of Akashi’s ever-radiant glory and brilliance on the sideline bench while the players on the court fight to the very bone to make a difference in both point scores and their lives.

But it’s also not fair how Furihata still thinks the world of Akashi, despite how subpar and inferior he knows he really is compared to the redhead. Akashi is perfect, he can do anything, but then here Furihata comes, stumbling with his clumsy feet and falling left and right on the basketball court and barely managing to keep up with the crazy basketball powerhouse dubbed Generation of Miracles.

And yet Furihata is so so so fortunate he must have used up all nine lives of his luck and more, because Akashi chose _him_ as something more than a close companion, keeping him by his side and clothing him with nothing but warm smiles and soft touches like spring born anew.

It’s kind of a sad scene. If asked to paint this sad pathetic excuse of a picture, Furihata is sure the Generation of Miracles would be a vibrant rainbow shining in the sky, the red most obvious of all colours, the first of them all, and Kuroko would be the blue sky, not outstanding or anything but always there, and then if he’s lucky, Furihata could be in the picture too, only that he’s forever beneath them, brown worthless dirt forever looking up to the sky, never able to soar and fly.

 

 

❀

 

 

Fast forward three hours later, Furihata has safely and successfully gotten off the shinkansen and set foot into Kyoto Station. Tripping after his own feet, he barely manages to navigate through the thick noon crowd and stumble into the pickup area. He anxiously searches for flashes of bright red hair in the sea of people, but is slightly crestfallen when he finds none. Akashi was supposed to be here waiting for his arrival, they discussed this twice in the past week whenever they had time to spare for communication, and truth be told he was secretly excited Akashi would be the first person he’d see on his first trip to Kyoto.

Among the sea of bustling people, Furihata feels incredibly out of place and so, so lonely.

He almost resorts to texting Akashi to ask of his whereabouts when who should show up in front of him but Mibuchi Reo himself, smiling down at him with his 188cm tower of grace and elegance that puts his own non-existent etiquette and decorum to shame.

“There you are, Kou-chan!” the older teen beams and crushes the brunet’s bones into dust with a bear hug. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you! Welcome to Kyoto, my dear. So glad to have you here!”

Furihata laughs weakly as he tries to disentangle himself from those long limbs. “It’s been a while, Mibuchi-san–”

_“Kou-chan~”_

“–I mean, Reo-nee.” Mibuchi’s expression turns from thunderous pitch black back to its usual kind, soft facial treatment afterglow in three seconds flat. Impressive. A stark contrast to Kuroko whose default expression is nothing but poker face, forever monotone, neverchanging like stone. Furihata finds that he still has trouble getting used to this highspeed change of Mibuchi’s moods that’s even more unpredictable than the weather.

But anyways, there are more pressing matters to attend to and issues to address even as they wiggle their way past the crowd to the platform of their next train. Furihata tries his best to keep up with the older boy while almost shouting his lungs out just so Mibuchi can hear him over the deafening volume of the train arrival announcements.

“So, uh, where’s Akashi-kun?”

“Hmm? Sei-chan? Unfortunately, he has some stuff to tend to. Coach held him back for their game plan discussion, and that takes forever, so here I am as ex-vice-captain of Rakuzan’s basketball team to pick you up for him!”

Furihata feels like slapping himself. Of course Akashi would be busy with basketball and school stuff, only in his dreams the redhead would be here in a freaking overcrowded train station waiting for his arrival when he would have more important things to do, which is precisely the reason Furihata must slap himself awake this instant because it would never happen. He needs to stop dreaming and start grounding himself to reality.

“Kou-chan? Kou-chan? Earth to Kou-chan?”

“Ahhh I’m sorry! I was just… spacing out.” Furihata laughs weakly, again. It seems to be his only forte. That and screwing things up. “You said something, Reo-nee?”

“Well aren’t you the most adorable thing on Earth,” Mibuchi smiles endearingly at him before putting an arm around his shoulder and guiding him into the train cabin that has stopped in front of them, “hop on, kiddo, let’s just hope you’re still here both physically and mentally in one piece by the time I deliver you to Sei-chan.”

 

 

❀

 

 

True to its name, Rakuzan High is nothing short of ancient grandeur and a touch of solemnity in its atmosphere, situated just a few kilometers away from the local infamous mountain by the river. Furihata has never visited Rakuzan before, because Seirin hasn’t the chance to negotiate a joint practice date with the reigning kings of basketball tournaments yet. So, he takes in the sight of antique wooden walls splayed yards across well-kept grounds and tries his very best to keep up with Mibuchi’s speedy pace leading him to the school’s basketball training grounds.

The squeak of basketball shoes is what captures his attention first, and the faint commands of _‘alert alert!’_ and _‘pass left! left!’_ is what turns Furihata’s insides into a slobbering mess of goo. That voice is unmistakably Akashi’s, instructions always short and clear and effectively uniting the team into a single, perfect-rhythmed play. When the training halls are within sight, Furihata scurries past his escort to peek at Rakuzan’s best in action. It’s not an everyday occurrence one gets to witness the training regime of the reigning basketball champions, and Furihata can only imagine how envious Coach Aida would be if she ever found out the brunet got to observe the kings at play in close proximity.

Training in Rakuzan is, as expected, well-planned and organised down to the very last move. Furihata would know so much because it’s completely different from Seirin’s training regime. While both are rigorous and sap away whatever energy Furihata would have left in his useless body, Seirin’s is loud, everyone everywhere guarding each other and Kagami yelling and slam dunking all the time whenever he gets a chance to. Rakuzan is eerily quiet, all actions synchronised with one another down to a T like they have fucking ESP or something and _no one_ ever complains or collapses of fatigue.

Fucking monsters. Furihata fears for his life. He thanks his lucky stars he was stupid enough to be put in Seirin instead of Rakuzan where geniuses congregate to plot world domination.

“Oh Kou-chan,” Mibuchi sighs exasperatedly when he catches the brunet trying to peek discreetly into the hall to no avail. “You can just walk in you know, everybody would welcome you.”

And with that, the taller boy drags the brunet out of his hiding spot and pushes him into the hall.

The first thing he sees is the intimidating banner holding the school’s motto hung proudly and gloriously on the spectator’s railing stands, probably as a source of inspiration and strength for the members to search for in times of need. Akashi is currently dribbling the ball perfectly and advancing across the court, his form undoubtedly perfect, wind blowing through his vibrant red hair as he bypasses with ease all players trying to stop him. And when he notices Furihata standing awkwardly by the door, mouth agape in awe, the latter swears the redhead’s eyes sparkled a little with amusement. He stops just before the three-point line, arms raised above his head, his posture so perfect as the ball flies right into the hoop a second later. Swish. Perfect accuracy, perfect trajectory. Midorima would have cried.

He barely registers Mibuchi chuckling lightly at the relieved sighs filling the hall when Akashi declares a two-minute break from practice. Furihata’s mind cannot stop replaying flashbacks of that perfect move over and over again because goddamn it Akashi’s play never fails to steal his breath away. It isn’t until Akashi is jogging towards him that he realises he probably looks like an idiot drooling over his crush’s super-saiyan basketball play, so he tries to redeem himself by staring at his dignity rolling miserably on the floor by his shoes until Akashi stops just a few inches short in front of him.

“Kouki.” he graces him with That Smile, the one Furihata likes a little too much and currently has trouble fighting the blush spotting his two cheeks. “Apologies, I couldn’t pick you up at the station, so I had Reo to wait for you in my place. It’s good to see you again.”

Furihata only blushes harder and smiles shyly when Akashi subtly taps his forearm with soft, warm fingers, allowing the touch to linger for a second longer than necessary. He feels like a silly schoolgirl trapped in this hopeless crush, but can’t help it because he is falling so hard, so fast for this boy in front of him at the speed of light, terminal velocity fueling him past the point of no return with all brakes tossed into the trashcan right from the start of the journey. Maybe if Akashi didn’t look at him so tenderly and affectionately this crush would hurt less, but then again Furihata has long transcended into the stage where if Akashi stopped acknowledging and looking at him, he’d probably die of excruciating pain and heartbreak.

“I-It’s fine, A-Akashi- _sa–_ Akashi-kun,” the brunet corrects himself. They’ve had this conversation about names before, and the redhead had adamantly insisted on Furihata addressing him on a first-name basis –  _call me Seijuro, please_ – but Furihata finds that he still can’t quite get past the politeness of using family names for some unknown reason, especially for someone so important and formal as Akashi.

He allows himself a moment to glance at Akashi’s expression, worried about angering the latter but so far Akashi seems pleased with the brunet’s usage of a more friendly suffix for his name. At least, for now.

Up close, he seems even more amazingly perfect than ever, posture confident and oozing of inherent leadership qualities Furihata knows he could never possess himself. The thought stings a little too much than it should have.

“Kou-chan seems to be extremely interested in our training regime,” Mibuchi pips from the sidelines, facilitating the conversation because Furihata is so painfully shy. The raven-haired teen reckons it’d probably take the brunet an eon if his relationship with Akashi were to progress to the next stage, and commends latter in his heart for his bottomless patience worthy of a saint.

Akashi raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow, the corners of his lips curved upwards in amusement. “We have thirty minutes left, Kouki, would you like to watch from the bench?”

“Yes! I mean– of course, sure. Thanks. For the offer.” Be still, dear heart. Quell the the staccato beats and soldier on normally please.

“Don’t mention it.” Akashi rewards his efforts in acting as normal as possible with another Smile, and it pretty much topples whatever progress Furihata’s been making down to the floor in pieces. Furihata swears Akashi is doing this on purpose, standing too close until their shoulders almost touch as he guides him to the bench with the best view and sits him down.

“I’ll be back. Enjoy your observation.” He bestows the brunet his extra wristguard for safekeeping before returning to the court, just like how warriors in the past would leave tokens of their belongings behind before going out to war while their fair maidens await their return home. Furihata watches as everyone scrambles to their feet the moment the Red Emperor steps onto the court, toned shoulders moving confidently in accordance with every gesture their owner makes in dictating their next play.

It sort of haunts Furihata how perfection actually exists on this planet in the form of Akashi Seijuro. Everybody on court listens to him, moves according to him and probably breathes on his count and command too. It’s so obvious the redhead is the centerpiece of the entire play, and the rest of them are just shogi pieces learning the right moves from their master that will lead them to victory. He tries to imagine himself standing side by side with Akashi, and has to convince himself not to cry there and then because the contrast is far too great. Furihata is like a non-existent speck of dust next to Akashi who outshines all dying stars exploding into vibrant supernovas.

What if. Just what if Akashi actually minds their difference in status and abilities? What if the people around him have lowered their opinion of the red-haired prodigy just because he hangs out with some loser below his standing who has no solid future or whatsoever? Furihata hates to be the one to sully the Akashi name, especially when all he wants is the best for his beloved redhead. A person like Akashi deserves the best, and Furihata is sure he definitely can never achieve that superlative standard, most unfortunately.

And the thought bothers him more than it should even after they’ve reached the Akashi residence. He’s drifting in and out of the one-sided chatter Akashi has engaged him in when their ride comes to a stop in front of an impressive Victorian mansion, lush green fields stretched out in front of the marble porch.

This is ridiculous, Furihata thinks as he trips on the last step leading to the second floor. An arm shoots out to steady his gait, and Furihata can’t be more grateful because falling flat on his face would just add on to his stupidity and poor image and at this rate, he’s pretty sure he’ll never get into the good books of the servants in the Akashi household, not when the young master is holding him in his arms, bodies too close to each other to be friends and checking him for scratches and scars like he could be spoiled goods.

Oh god, what if Akashi thinks Furihata is spoiled goods?

“Kouki? Kouki, are you alright?”

Furihata snaps back into reality and jumps apart from strong arms, bewildered. Akashi blinks in surprise, arms lowering down back to his sides in uncertainty.

“Aaaaah aah-” the brunet tries to make himself seem a little more intelligent and dignified but obviously the effect is of the complete opposite. Mentally, he wails into his hands and cries at the thought of the servants speaking ill of him for tainting their young master with dubious behavior and character.

“Kouki,” Akashi starts, “you’ve been terribly off and silent all day, more so than usual. Are you feeling unwell?” Concerned eyes pierce into his own hazel ones as a cool palm covers his forehead to check for temperature.

“I-I’m not feeling unwell, Akashi-kun.” If anything, Furihata feels guilty for causing discomfort in the redhead. “I guess I’m just tired from travelling or something.”

Akashi nods gravely, accepting this as the cause of Furihata’s strange behaviour and promptly takes the duffel bag from the brunet’s shoulder to sling it across his own.

“Then you must rest, Kouki. I will see to it that you are properly rested by dinnertime.” Akashi’s word is law by nature in this household. Even without the snap of his fingers, the servants are already hurrying down the hallway wordlessly, probably to prepare for a glass of water and aspirin pill for their guest. So while the servants tend to their duties, Furihata finds himself swept into Akashi’s arms and brisk pace until he stops in front of an antique-looking door with the words _Seijuro_ engraved on the handsome oak wood in gold.

Wait a minute.

“Y-Your room?” Furihata squeaks in panic. This can’t be right.

“Is something wrong, Kouki?” Akashi seems to be alarmed for the nth time that day, so much Furihata wonders if he would be the cause of Akashi sprouting premature grey hair in the near future if this continues on.

The servants. Think of the servants and how Akashi’s reputation must not be tarnished.

So, Furihata squares his shoulders, but the false surge of courage withers away when he stares into Akashi’s intense, questioning eyes. “I think. That. Maybe. Think. Shouldn’t-”

Then something seems to click behind dichromatic eyes and Akashi understands right away. He seems a little crestfallen though, not that Furihata would know, considering the flustered state of mind the brunet currently is trapped in right now.

“I understand.” Akashi sighs quietly, and guides the brunet towards the guestroom down the empty hallway.

“T-Thank you.” Furihata blushes when Akashi sits him down on the luxurious bed and places his duffel bag beside him.

“Shall I unpack for you?” Akashi offers, but is met with spluttering protest and another round of endless blushing on his guest’s part. Akashi must never live to see the red underwear Furihata’s brother sneaked into his luggage when the brunet wasn’t looking! Furihata swears when he gets home there will be hell to pay for the embarrassment he had to endure on his trip to Kyoto. Family or not, sneaks are unforgivable and should be banished past the seven circles of hell and punished in the most excruciating, painful way ever.

“Fine, I’ll leave. But please get some rest, Kouki. You must be exhausted.” Akashi presses a chaste kiss to his cheek before closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Furihata could only stare belatedly at the door in shock. Slowly, his fingers caress the spot where Akashi’s lips had touched, and in the moments after, tells himself over and over again that it isn’t a dream, Akashi had just kissed him, well, his cheek to be honest, but it’s still a part of him.

He has sunk so deep into this crush he doesn’t even know what to do anymore.

 

 

❀

 

 

“Where are we going?” is the first thing Furihata asks the next morning when a black, expensive car pulls up by the driveway. Furihata has half a mind to let Akashi know that these are the type of cars one would see in bloody mafia flicks, the type gangly yakuzas would use to hide dead bodies in the car trunk and dump them into the sea to finish their dirty jobs, but when the trunk lid really pops open and Akashi pushes him forward slightly, Furihata almost faints on the spot.

“Are you selling me away?! Please don’t take my kidney, I don’t have any money, they’re not worth anything at all!” he almost sobs, he hasn’t said goodbye to his parents yet, life is too short to end at the tender age of 17, yadda yadda yadda.

Akashi blinks, surprised at the brunet’s outburst, and very slowly assures a trembling Furihata that _no, he is not going to cut Furihata apart, his kidneys will always stay in his body,_ and _no, he would never sell the brunet away for anything in this world, whatever on earth are you thinking of, Kouki?_

“Oh. Okay.” the brunet gulps as Akashi leads him to the backseat and slides in after him, “that’s reassuring to know. I suppose.”

When the engine purrs to life, Furihata swears he heard Akashi let out a very quiet sigh.

_This is going to be a long ride._

 

 

❀

 

 

Furihata has done a lot of thinking since yesterday night, well, before he accidentally drifted off into sleep and dreamed of the Akashi household crowding around him and demanding a low-standing being like him to stop stealing their young master away and taint him with culture from the slumps, that is.

It was a horrible dream, Furihata couldn’t stop reassuring himself enough that it wasn’t real in the morning after until Akashi had knocked on his door and asked him down to breakfast, which then elicited more panic in him because crap it was nine am and he was still in his PJs and Akashi had probably waited too long for him to appear down at the dining table.

So much for trying his best to stop being so flustered around the redhead.

It is such an agonizing choice to live by, liking someone but never able to match up to them. Furihata has considered giving up on this stupid crush, but it’s not like he agreed to open some goddamn door and walk into this with his eyes wide open! If anything, he’d say it was something stupid like fate, pulling her strings and tripping him into this abysmal black hole of no return.

Down the rabbit hole - falling, falling.

Furihata steals a glance at the redhead sitting beside him. 15 minutes into their journey to the unknown, Akashi has been bogged down with calls from various people Furihata thinks must be those Very Important People of the Akashi Conglomerate. But he finds that he doesn’t mind this a single bit, because he gets to hear Akashi’s quiet murmurs filling the silence of the car and soothe his frayed nerves from this morning’s episode of anxiety attack. Akashi’s voice has this miraculous way of calming him down, so much that sometimes Furihata falls asleep listening to it when they exchange late night calls on weekends they can afford to spare.

Suddenly, Akashi turns around, phone still by his ear and casts the brunet a small smile before he reaches out to rest his palm on cold, dry ones.

The result is instantaneous. Furihata jerks away as if he was electrocuted with a megawatt power source on a fucking effective electric conductor while Akashi freezes for two seconds, taken aback by the brunet’s strong reaction.

By the time Furihata realises what he has done, and the consequences of his action, it is too late. Akashi has already retracted his hand, places it on his own lap and continues talking over the phone like nothing ever happened.

Silence looms above them like a heavy cloud threatening to rain storms of guilt – _Furihata’s guilt._ It eats away at his heart and chips away a bit of his soul every time the redhead’s momentary hurt expression flashes in his mind for that split second. In the end, they don’t speak or look at each other for the rest of the trip.

Indeed, so much for trying his best to stop being so flustered around the redhead.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

 

❀

 

 

When the black Bentley pulls up in front of a grand-looking Japanese inn, Akashi is still busy conversing on the phone, discussing numbers and stock markets while he signals the bellboy at the receptionist’s to deliver their luggage to the most luxurious, grandest washitsu he’s ever seen in his life (so far). Is this how the rich like to spend their money when they have too much to spare??? Kouki ponders on this while he trudges behind the redhead silently, swearing on his ancestors’ graves that one day he will have the ability to afford grand houses like these that will make his parents proud.

“Unfortunately,” Akashi’s voice pulls him back to reality before his imagination lets him wander too far, “there is only one room available for the both of us, Kouki. I apologise, I was unaware that you had your reservations about sharing rooms until yesterday evening, and by then every other room was booked.”

“Aaah ah–” seriously, where are these weird noises coming from???? Furihata should stop making a fool out of himself before Akashi decides to throw him out into the streets due to questionable behaviour.

“Kouki?” Crap, Akashi is looking at him with furrowed eyebrows now. Please, if there is a god somewhere up there, let Furihata find his vocal chords (and sanity) back. The poor soul is already kneeling on tatami mats begging for divine intervention to save himself from all this embarrassment and awkwardness.

“I-It’s fine, Akashi-kun!! I-I’m okay w-with shared rooms!!!” Cue the nervous laughter. He sounds a bit too forcefully cheery, but Furihata considers this as remarkable progress and mentally pats himself on the back a job well done.

“Alright then,” the redhead turns around and starts to unpack, fishing out his laptop and plugging the charger into the socket, “if you say so.”

The silence that befalls upon them is unbelievably suffocating. While unpacking, Furihata cannot for the love of his life stop thinking about the incident in the car earlier. His hands still tingle from the fleeting touch of Akashi’s warm fingers, and his stomach is near upset from twisting and churning with all the anxiety flooding his nervous system. So, being the coward he is, Furihata takes the easy way out and tries to excuse himself pitifully from the thick atmosphere of the room before he throws up all his breakfast on expensive tatami mats that probably cost more than his stupid useless limbs.

“Y-You know what, Akashi-kun!” he stutters a bit too loudly for a conversation with only two people, and misses the startled look flashing across Akashi’s face for that split second, “this p-place looks very nice and comfy!!! So I think I’m just g-gonna g-g-go out f-for a while, if that’s okay with y-you!!”

“Of course it’s fine,” Akashi stops typing and sends him an apologetic glance, “I’m afraid I have to finish up this urgent email to a few business partners, so you’ll have to explore these grounds on your own for a while. Do be back by six though, the Hanatoro festival will start shortly after then.”

Furihata blinks. “Hanatoro?”

“Yes, it’s the local festival we talked about the last time on the phone, Kouki. You mentioned that you were extremely interested in seeing the lights in person, do you not remember?”

Uh oh. So Furihata practically dug his own grave himself. Brilliant.

“A-Ahhhhh I remember now!!” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “Right, I’ll come back as soon as I’m done checking out this place! T-Thanks for the reminder, Akashi-kun.”

With chimes of nervous laughter trailing after him, Furihata slides the shoji shut, walks over to the next room and slumps onto the floor in a heap of embarrassment of conflicted emotions.

Sweet pie of god, what’s a 17-year-old boy gotta do to deal with this crush of his? Furihata continues staring at his hand, imagining another five, pale, slender fingers slotting themselves perfectly into the crevices between his ugly ones coarse from constantly helping out at his father’s ramen bar. It’s a bit unrealistic, but Furihata allows his imagination to wander off for a while to a world where his panic attacks stop getting in the way of his relationship development with Akashi, where his terrified squeaks would stop throwing whatever progress they’ve made down the trash chute and they’d actually get somewhere instead of constantly fluttering around each other like butterflies trying unsuccessfully to mate or something.

Wait, that was a horrible analogy, Furihata is extremely ashamed of himself. Someone please slap all the shyness and wishy-washy personality out of him before he goes mad.

Besides, it’s not like Akashi is averse to the idea of them hanging out together (right?). In retrospect, he seems to be perfectly amiable and takes all of Furihata’s anxiety episodes in stride, and if Furihata isn’t receiving the wrong signals like he usually does, he’d say Akashi is fond of him too. But then again, the thought of them going out seems too far-fetched, so impossible for him. Furihata would stick out like a sore thumb beside Akashi who carries himself with such amazing grace and elegance he’d be nothing but third grade weed that potheads wouldn’t even want to smoke even when there’s nothing left for them to get wasted on.

It hurts to think about it even though he’s pretty much resigned himself to a fate void of Akashi Seijuro.

Damn it.

Furihata knows he should do something about this. He is a grown boy for god’s sake, they should talk this out calmly and professionally like how adults do, considering just in a few years they would have to step into society as fully functioning normal people and well, he’s gotta start somewhere.

And discussing misunderstandings of their earlier conduct would certainly serve as a good starting point. Yup. He can do this. As a member of the Seirin basketball team that fears no bounds and potential boyfriend (?) of Akashi Seijuro, it is his responsibility to ensure that his crush does not mistake his actions for rejection and that all misunderstandings are cleared and dusted under the carpet, never to be spoken of again.

So, squaring his shoulders and slapping his own cheeks to get a firmer grip on himself, he takes a deep breath, walks back to their shared room and slides the shoji aside, ready to face all obstacles coming his way.

Akashi glances at him from his laptop in acknowledgement. Furihata takes that as his cue to sit down.

“A-Akashi-kun!” he starts a bit too loudly, shoulders tense from anxiety, “d-do you have a m-minute?!”

Eye contact, maintain eye contact, Furihata tells himself when Akashi puts away his laptop to offer the brunet his full and undivided attention. Furihata cannot screw this up.

“Akashi-kun.” he repeats, swallowing nervously.

“Yes, Kouki?”

Silence. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi–

“Is there something you wish to discuss, Kouki?” Akashi prompts him, but not impatiently, no, quite the opposite, in fact, Furihata thanks his lucky stars. God, he hates this, confrontations were never his thing, and positively never will be.

“Yes, Akashi-kun. I. Um. About that thing earlier…” he trails off, hoping his lucky streak continues sprinkling its magic on him and Akashi catches on what he wants to say.

“What thing?”

Fuck.

“Y-You know, that th-thing. In the car.”

Maintain eye contact, maintain eye contact, maintain eye-

“I’m sorry Kouki, I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” Poor Akashi looks genuinely confused, and he looks like he really wants to get up and oh, Furihata doesn’t know, maybe he wants to leave because Furihata is such a blubbering mess oh dear oh god ugh Furihata really hates himself right now.

“Kouki?”

“A-Actually!! It’s nothing already!” the brunet bolts up from his seat, nerves getting the better of him.

“Kouki, wait–”

“Nothing to worry about, Akashi-kun!!” said man chuckles weakly as he crosses the room to the door in record speed, “really sorry for disturbing you!! So, um, I’ll see you later? 6pm? Okay, um, yeah, that’s all, bye!!”

Without waiting for another word, he shuts the door and flees.

Coward. Stupid, stupid coward.

 

 

❀

 

 

Furihata wants to die. No screw that, he is dead already. The last conversation he had with Akashi has proven so. In the aftermath, Furihata Kouki had collapsed onto the floor, rolled around in embarrassment and descended to hell for being the stupidest, most cowardly filth undeserving of being a human worthy of Akashi’s affections.

Honestly, what did Akashi ever see in him? Furihata is a failure to the human race, bringing nothing but shame and mortification to his family and god forbid he sullies the Akashi name any further.

Furihata tries not to drown himself in the common bathroom later on, because it wouldn’t do Akashi any good if he died on him just like that while he’s on a trip to see glowing lanterns Furihata had stupidly suggested in the first place. Akashi is busy enough already, he doesn’t have any time to deal with Furihata’s silly antics, much less a mysterious suicide case on a supposedly merry trip to Kyoto.

Unfortunately, embarrassment and self-disappointment cannot be scrubbed away no matter how hard Furihata tries. By the time he washes away all traces of soap and drags himself reluctantly back to their room, Akashi is also done with his bath, dressed primly in a dark grey yukata that complements his pale skin and red hair perfectly. The only thing that is out of place in this picture is the surprise etched on his godly features (and Furihata himself), and the soft chuckle that follows after drives the flesh-eating butterflies in his stomach to drop-kick the wall lining like crazy.

“We match, almost.” Akashi gestures at Furihata’s grey yukata, only a few shades lighter than his own.

The brunet blushes like a fucking neon stoplight blinking in the dark as he scurries off to store his toiletries and follow Akashi into the elevator.

He looks so resplendent in his dark grey yukata Furihata almost deliberately lags behind so he wouldn’t spoil the celestial image of Akashi gracing the world with his majestic presence. Akashi looks as though he descended from heaven, Furihata looks as if he just got back from a funeral. The contrast is undeniable.

And the thought continues to plague his mind and tugs at his heartstrings as they stroll down streets lit up by hundreds of cylindrical lanterns on the ground. He stares at the way the yukata drapes across those toned shoulders perfectly, admiring the flowy movement of the fabric swishing back and forth with each step the Red Emperor takes, and he only wishes inertia would so help him get to where he wants to be too – by Akashi’s side, but those few steps to his final destination feel like a painfully slow walkathon dragging on for eternity. He tries to run, tries to catch up, but no matter how hard he tries, the ache in his heart is too much to bear, the voices in his head too hard to ignore, and then he falls back to the starting line that somehow has caught up with him even though it never had legs to begin with.

The voices. They remind him of their difference in stature, soft hushed tones whispering in his mind until he’s on the brink of tears and Akashi is only a small speck of shimmering glass before he disappears from Furihata’s sight completely.

And then he’s left alone, falling, with no one to catch him in the end. Right now, Furihata’s not sure if there even is an end.

What if Akashi never liked him from the beginning?

“The path to the temple starts here, illuminated by the lanterns the committee has lit earlier– Kouki? What is the matter? Kouki?”

Said boy blinks, he doesn’t realise how far he has stopped walking until Akashi has to turn around and close that impressive amount of distance between them in long strides. And the touch receptors on his face don’t seem to register the trails of hot droplets streaming down his cheeks until a concerned hand reaches out to wipe them away, only to stop short of touching him, fingers hovering just centimeters above the tears that continue to escape from the corner of Furihata’s eyes.

Oh shit.

Furihata lets out a garbled noise of panic that sounds pathetic even to his own ears. Fuck, what in seven hells is he doing, crying in public like an overgrown fucking baby?

“Gah,” he tries to wipe away those damned liquid traitors with his sleeve, “I’m sorry Akashi-kun, I don’t know why– I just–”

“Are you in pain? Did I cause you any discomfort?” Akashi cuts him off, his dichromatic eyes full of something so intense and heavy Furihata can’t put a word to. It looks like concern and a tinge of sorrow, but Furihata could be dreaming for all he knows.

“N-No, I think I just. I don’t know. I was just thinking of stuff, I guess. I’m sorry.” The brunet apologises. But the expression on Akashi’s face only makes his heart hurt even more.

“I fear this trip was ill-advised. Do you want to go back to the inn, Kouki? There’s always the next Hanatoro in December, if you’re still up for it.”

“No no!” Furihata shakes his head in breakneck speed it might just literally fall off anytime soon. “I’m fine! Seriously, it’s just stupid old me thinking of stupid things. I swear I can get so stupid at times it’s not even funny anymore.” he tries to dissipate the tension hanging in the air by laughing weakly, but apparently the effect is lost on Akashi who stares at him intensely like he’s hanging off every syllable Furihata breathes.

“What thoughts? Perhaps it’d ease your mind if you share them with me. I won’t laugh or anything, I promise.” he offers so sincerely Furihata wants to shed tears again. He doesn’t deserve someone so kind and wonderful as Akashi Seijuro. The Red Emperor’s brilliance is wasted on someone so plain and ordinary as him.

Yet Furihata can’t stop wanting to love him, so much it hurts. How is it fair that god bestows something so glorious and magnificent in front of him when he can’t reach out for it?

Furihata is about to suggest that maybe Akashi should just find someone else who is more suitable for him, more of his standing and won’t drag him down or burden him when a familiar voice breaks his train of thought.

“Sei-chan?” Mibuchi Reo emerges from a stray path, eyes wide with surprise. They widen even further when they notice the tear stains on Furihata’s cheeks.

“Kou-chan.” He gasps, walking up to the couple and pulling the brunet into a tight embrace.

If Akashi had glared (murderously) at the older teen, Mibuchi pretended not to notice and continued cooing affectionately at the brunet in his arms, wiping the remnants of his tears away gingerly with a handkerchief.

“Maybe you could give us a private minute or two, Sei-chan?” Furihata doesn’t dare look at said boy’s expression right now. How is it that their roles are reversed right now, with Mibuchi reciting what was supposed to be Akashi’s lines? Maybe Mibuchi has a death wish, maybe Mibuchi is tired of living and dealing with both their silly antics and wants Akashi to annihilate him right there and then.

When the silence becomes too heavy to bear, Furihata can feel Mibuchi trying to nudge the redhead away, and he thinks it really won’t work because Akashi is quite persistent when it comes to certain things like Furihata’s state of mind and wellbeing, but the next moment that follows is what shocks the soul out of Furihata.

“Fine.” Akashi relents, sighs silently and walks away, but not after casting a worried glance or two at the brunet who is trying very hard to avoid his gaze.

When he is sure that Akashi is out of hearing distance, Furihata peeks from the edge of Mibuchi’s shoulders to watch Akashi leave, figure disappearing into the crowd like thin wisps of smoke evaporating into the chilly spring air.

Sometimes he looks at Akashi and it hurts to even breathe. This is how deep he has fallen, how far down the rabbit hole he is, and the fact that no end is in sight just makes him want to cry even further.

Where is the stop button when you need it?

“Sei-chan looks sad.” Mibuchi comments and wipes a stray tear falling from Furihata’s face, “ _You_ look sad. Did something happen?”

“I can’t do it. I don’t think I can,” Furihata swallows thickly, trying to suppress the fear and anxiety creeping up on him, but ends up spilling his heart all over the pavement for people to see and trample on, “I like him so much it just hurts. It’s like he’s so… great, so perfect, so brilliant, and I’m just this stupid lucky guy who he just happens to like for some reason. It’s hard to ignore what people think of us, and I’m just so scared that I’m slowing him down from achieving all these greater things and places he’s supposed to have and be in. I don’t know what to do.”

“Kou-chan,” Mibuchi smiles gently, like a loving parent dispensing advice to his/her helpless child, “love may come knocking on your door once or twice, but the magic won’t work unless you open the door and let love in.”

“But I don’t deserve him.”

“Nonsense!” Mibuchi waves his uchiwa around as if it would wave away the troubles plaguing Furihata’s mind, “never say that, Kou-chan.” he chides.

Furihata flinches slightly at the change of tone. Nevertheless Mibuchi continues on, albeit softer this time. “You could always improve yourself for Sei-chan’s sake. He likes you a lot, cares for you deeply, so I don’t think it’s worth discarding a love so great simply for reasons like unequal standings or third party perceptions. Nobody is born with the same standing in life, but when two people come together in life, I’d like to think that they each possess something that complements each other well. I’m sure Sei-chan must have seen some qualities in you that he admires, and he tries so hard for you, so don’t you think you ought to try your best for him as well, Kou-chan?”

“But how? I don’t know how.”

“Well, you could start by addressing him by his given name. He has been quite persistent on that matter, hasn’t he?”

It’s as if Mibuchi sprinkled holy water on him and made him attain enlightenment, or unveiled some invisible cloth shrouding his vision and made him see the light. The answer has always been right in front of his eyes, it’s such a simple solution Furihata wonders if he was ever dropped on the head when he was a baby. Why didn’t he ever see it this way?

And he’s so absorbed in this moment of enlightenment that he doesn’t notice Akashi approaching from a distance until Mibuchi speaks again.

“Ah, Sei-chan is back, so I suppose it’s time for me to go.” He pats Furihata on the head and holds out his pinky, “promise me you’ll work this out with him, okay?”

Furihata nods, still starstruck, and the older teen has to forcefully grab hold of his pinky and make him swear he’ll update him with good news after this before he strides away. Furihata takes in everything in a daze and continues to stare at Mibuchi’s retreating figure until Akashi stops right in front of him, frowning.

And– Oh look, he has a lantern in his hands, how pretty.

“Kouki?”

The light is so warm, so bright, yet its glow softens Akashi’s features, and brings out the colour of his eyes wonderfully.

“Is something wrong, Kouki? Are you still upset? _Kouki._ ”

Pretty. The light is so pretty. Furihata kind of wants to tear up again this instant, his eyes sting, but Akashi seems like he’s bubbling close to panic meltdown so the brunet takes in a deep breath and tries his best to smile and assure the Red Emperor that all is fine now.

“Was it something Reo said? Was he bothering you?” Akashi inches closer, eyes scrutinizing Furihata’s expression for the telltale signs of lies. Furihata considers his next words carefully, afraid that any words uttered in mistake would be the catalyst to set Akashi off on a personal mission to hunt Mibuchi down with that black Bentley and bury his body six feet under.

“I-I’m okay,” he smiles shakily in the end, not trusting himself to say anything further. Instead, he tries to dissipate the tension in the air by averting attention to the glimmering device sitting innocently on the redhead’s palms.

“So, you bought a lantern?”

It works. Akashi’s face softens considerably, and a small smile brighter than the burning flame in his hands lights up across his lips. This smile is so small yet so blinding Furihata swears it could power up an entire city from scratch and start a raging bonfire in his heart.

“Yes, it is the Hanatoro festival after all. If you are agreeable to the idea, we could add it to the line of lanterns at the end of the pathway.” _Together._

Together. Furihata likes this notion of doing things together now. The word has been given a brand new meaning to his world and he’d like to explore more of it. It won’t be easy, and his nerves are still tangled in knots from previously, but Mibuchi’s words continue to echo endlessly in his head.

_Try, try, try, try._

It’s worth a try. Furihata must, for Akashi, who has been nothing but patient, kind and understanding to him all this while.

They trudge along the path lined with glowing lanterns in silence. Akashi stands a little too far from him compared to the beginning when he had no qualms about sharing and invading his personal space. While Furihata understands that his behaviour was the cause of it all, it just hurts to think that the distance between them might grow further all because of misunderstandings that could’ve been avoided in the first place.

It’s almost dark by the time they manage to find a spot for their little container of hope. The only free spaces left are the more secluded areas away from the crowd, but Furihata finds that he likes the tranquility that comes along with this undisturbed image of mother nature lit to life by stray lanterns scattered randomly in the dark.

Akashi must have thought the same too, Furihata observes, because a serene smile is etched on his expression and the brunet cannot stop staring at the beautiful curve of his thin lips against soft, tender skin.

“This seems like a good spot. What do you think, Kouki?” Said lips move on their own accord. Furihata wonders how it would feel like to touch and kiss them.

Wait. Lantern. Focus, Furihata Kouki.

“Y-Yeah, I think so too.” He gulps.

They are so close to each other now, huddled over the little ball of light as Akashi ensures its stability on the pebbly ground. It’s like planting hope onto soil and watching it bloom into a sturdy oak tree as old as time, and he wonders if they could last as long as that too – time. They can’t outlive what has been in existence since the birth of the universe, but Furihata hopes, if they ever get together, that they can try their best, or at least, try to work out their differences so they can watch each other grow old and die together.

Does Akashi ever think of these? Does he ever stay up till late night just to ponder on the existence of their future and the possibility of them ever sharing one?

Suddenly, the flame flickers for a split second before it dies an unexpected death. The light goes out and they are left in darkness again.

“It went out.” Furihata grieves quietly. Perhaps this is a sign that trying is useless, that his constant struggles won’t get him anywhere past the starting line. Maybe Furihata should give up, maye Akashi wasn’t his to try for in the first place, that they are better off as just friends and-

“Don’t worry, Kouki, we could always light a new flame.” Akashi assures him gently with an expression of extreme benevolence. “And if it doesn’t work, we can always try again.”

_Try, try, try, try–_

The Red Emperor is about to light a new match when Furihata gathers all the courage he never knew he possessed and looks straight into Akashi’s eyes for what must be the first time in history.

“C-Can I?” He wants to try. He desperately wants this to work.

Akashi blinks, but smiles all the same and offers the matchbox to the brunet.

“Of course you can, Kouki.”

Furihata wants to brush their fingers together, but Akashi is careful, too careful as he hands the matchsticks over to the brunet who mourns over the loss of skin contact.

The hiss of the match lighting up fills the silence in the air. Careful as to not set the lantern on fire, he lowers the tiny flame gingerly to the wick and watches the birth of a miracle as the lantern flickers back to life.

Burning bright.

It’s heartwarming, and it sparks a tiny flame of hope and courage inside of Furihata that will, bless Cupid, hopefully never die. Suddenly, Furihata can see the tunnels of the rabbit hole a bit better, and he isn’t so afraid of falling anymore.

_I’m sure Sei-chan must have seen some qualities in you that he admires, and he tries so hard for you, so don’t you think you ought to try your best for him as well, Kou-chan?_

This is the pivotal point of their relationship. No two people could ever be equals unless they try to, and Furihata is sure Akashi deserves this much for all he’s done for the him. Furihata must improve and better himself for the sake of their relationship instead of lying around and moping at the injustice of young love plaguing them all day. Stars have crossed just so lovers can meet at least once, magpies have flown and bridged a love so great just for Orihime and Hikoboshi, and it makes Furihata want to believe that sometimes fate is kind enough to twist parallel and intersecting perpendicular lines into parabola curves and sinusoidal waves so two people can meet again and again. This time, it’s up to him to steer them both back to the right direction so they can fall together and start their journey to happiness.

Akashi deserves this much– no, _more than this_ in exchange for whatever amount of happiness Furihata can possibly give him. So, he takes that leap of faith, keeps the thought that everything will work out close to his heart and reaches out to lace their fingers together. Loosely, in case Akashi wants to pull away in repulsion to his antics and run away while he still can.

But the expected rejection does not occur. When soft fingers brush against one another to link themselves together, Akashi strengthens his grasp on the brunet’s fingers and never lets go. Not even once. In return, Furihata sends him a shaky, uncertain smile and hopes that it’s enough to convey the words he cannot, for now, find himself to say.

They are so painfully shy. But the pleased smile curving on Akashi’s lips is enough to light the way and guide them both into the dark.

“Kouki.” he murmurs, thumb caressing the back of Furihata’s hand lovingly. The brunet blushes, blossoms of crimson blooming and spreading beautifully across his cheeks, but there’s no stopping this moment right now. He’s on a roll to set things in order so no one has to stand behind closed doors spilling poetry of unrequited love or overthinking things that never existed in the first place.

“I– I’m not perfect like you, I don’t think i ever can be, but I’ll try, okay? It’s going to be hard, but I’ll try, for us, for you, S-Seijuro.” He stammers, heart hammering against his chest so hard so fast it explodes out of his ribcage like a bird soaring into the sky.

But the anxiety is extremely worth going through, for Akashi’s eyes crinkle in pure joy at the melody of his given name escaping through his lover’s pink lips. He gazes at Furihata with such fondness the latter has never seen before, so ardently it makes his heart flutter, stop, drop and roll into Akashi’s hands where they have always (patiently) been waiting.

“You are perfect enough, Kouki. You don’t have to change anything, I love you just the same.” He rests his palm on the soft slopes of Furihata’s cheeks tinged with pink embarrassment and hint of love.

It feels like they’ve come a long way, and suddenly the starting line is long past him, and all the running and gasping has finally paid off when he finally catches up with Akashi halfway on their way to joy.

And they still have so much more to go, so much more hidden sides and unexpected quirks to discover within each other, Furihata muses as gentle fingers tilt his chin and angles his face slightly so Akashi can lean in to press their lips together.

It’s nothing but a light, feathery brush of their lips against one another, but their first kiss feels warm. Very, very warm. So warm, so full of love it hurts.

Yes, this is what it’s like, to not walk into love but fall into it, and trust that in the end, gravity will deliver him to the right place he’s supposed to land.

Nothing escapes gravity. The end of the rainbow will touch the ground. Akashi will always reach out to him with warm, bare hands and find him to bring him back to his side. So it’s okay to fall, Furihata realises as Akashi leans in to kiss him again, because in the end somebody will be at the other side of the rainbow waiting for you. There’s no stopping what has been right there from the beginning, so fall, he tells himself.

And he is, always.

Falling, falling.

 

 

❀

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i am sorry for this abomination. i think i butchered akashi's characterization ;;
> 
> how on earth is this 9k-ish when there are still 2 instalments left to write *nervous laughter fades into the distance*
> 
> but still, thanks for reading! please do let me know if there is anything i can improve on! :>


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